Beach Bum
by Su-Whisterfield
Summary: Betsy and Alison have a day out at the Krakoan beach, watching the wildlife.
1. Chapter 1 Fishing

It's a warm evening, after a hot day.  
Elizabeth closes her eyes and listens to the gentle sound of the waves. Enough of the dappled, late, sunlight comes through the canopy, but not too much and the breeze makes it comfortable. Paradise. Her book is discarded next to her.  
"Oh, god." Alison, murmurs. "Here he comes." Well, _that_ gets her attention.  
He doesn't walk, he sashays. And the sarong flaps around his ankles in the little wavelets on the shore. He's wearing a ridiculous, tatty, straw hat, purple flowers woven around the crown.  
And he looks magnificent.  
The dipping sun makes the blue electric, completely different to how it looks in artificial light.  
Muscles move in graceful harmony.  
Her mouth is dry with wanting. Oh, yes.  
"Do you think he knows?" She sounds wistful.  
"Of course he does" Alison laughs. The sarong is dangerously low on those slim hips. "He's fishing."

He crouches down, cools his hands in the foam of the waves.  
Betsy and Alison are very interested in the round curve of his shapely ass, clearly displayed against the batik fabric.  
"Oh."  
"I know. Peachy."  
"Fuzzy peach..."  
They look at each other and share a grin.

The sarong is wet now, from the sea foam and clings to his shapely legs.  
A dark shape detaches itself from the tree line.  
Alison reaches for her 'phone.  
"Ali!" Betsy hisses.  
"Oh, c'mon, everyone knows." She rolls her eyes but lets the rose gold iPhone fall back into her beach bag. "You're no fun."

The dark shape slouches towards him, scruffy jeans and a plaid shirt, open to the waist, the usual cowboy hat replaced by a baseball cap, due to the heat.  
The beach is deserted, apart from the two watchers on the sunbeds.  
They turn and walk away. After a few paces, Logan's strong arm slips, naturally, around Kurt's slender waist. As though they'd been doing it for years. Kurt leans into him.  
Alison and Betsy sigh, in unison.  
"Oh."  
"I need to text Bobby!"

The couple walk on down the beach.

The sarong is all damp, but it's better than nothing. Sand gets everywhere.  
Logan shrugs out of his jeans and shirt, he doesn't take his eyes off the man beside him, as if he's afraid he might disappear, like a fairytale faun, back into the woods, into his dreams.

Kurt leans in to kiss him, mouth warm and wet and welcoming after a long few days apart.  
He directs Logan back onto the sarong and reaches for the flowers entwined on the straw hat.  
"What'd ya' want, darlin?" Logan drawls, with a grin.  
"You." Half lidded eyes and a seductive tip of the head, he crushes the flowers and anoints Logan's cock, as though it's a sacred ritual.  
Logan groans at the skillful, familiar fingers. Kurt takes his hand and leads it to his own ass, so Logan can feel the hard ring of the butt plug. "Fuck. You've been walkin' about with this in ya'?" His cock weeps in anticipation.  
"Mm. Yes. Waiting. Waiting for you." Kurt kneels beside him, on his hands and knees, he moves his tail to one side, to give access; it takes all Logan's self control not to rip out the plug and mount him there and then, his animal instincts rise, insatiable and insistent.

He shakes his head, to break the spell; he's never had a lover like this before. He takes one of the flowers and crushes it, then uses his slick fingers to ease the butt plug, gently, slowly out. Kurt makes a slight noise, somewhere between a sigh and a groan, his own cock hardening.  
Logan sits back, assumes the position, and, with practiced ease, Kurt brings a long leg over and moves onto the heavier man's lap. He lines up and sinks, oh so carefully, down.  
Logan's breath catches. So tight, so hot. He runs his hands up the muscled thighs, across the flat belly. He's not sure what he did in a previous life to deserve this, 'cos he sure a hell hasn't done anything in this lifetime to earn something so fuckin' good.

Kurt moves, smooth, confident, sure of himself and of what he wants, sure of how to please his lover too. He undulates his hips, driving Logan deeper, he leans forward and their lips meet, he runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth, across sharp fangs, surprisingly soft lips. His own cock is rising between them so he catches one of those huge hands and brings it to his mouth, taking two fingers into the warmth, laving them, All the time he keeps eye contact, sensual and unashamed.  
Logan groans and starts to thrust. Kurt moves his hand, with the now wet fingers, to his own leaking cock and Logan gets a clue and starts to work him. They develop a rhythm and Kurt throws his head back "Oh, oh, oh!"  
"Oh, fuck, fuck, darlin'. Fuck you're beautiful."  
Kurt lifts his hips and Logan slides out of him, he brings their cocks together and wraps his strong, strange hand about them both. Their mouths meet again as he moves his hand and Logan comes, grunting into his mouth, semen splattering up as high as his lover's chest.

Afterwards, they lie back on the sand and watch the sun head towards the horizon.  
Logan shows him the earrings, in their plush box, that he's bought for Jean's birthday. When Kurt found out he was working in Singapore, he'd been given a modest budget and strict instructions; not a ring (too intimate), get a necklace or earrings in gold and emeralds.  
"Perfect, they're beautiful."  
Logan nods, pleased with the praise. He rummages in the pocket again, pulls out a little packet.  
"Bought this too."  
Kurt raises an eyebrow. It's a single, simple earring.  
"It's silver, 'cos..." Logan shrugs. Because the silver, blue, cool, is more like his gentle lover than hot, extravagant gold. But he doesn't have the words.  
He doesn't need them. Kurt kisses him, deep and long, he slides the earring into the piercing in his ear, he's not worn one for years, but Logan still remembers the young acrobat, with the silver earring. The slight weight of it feels good, feels right.

Kurt take a short dip, to wash off, Logan is less fond of the water, but very much likes watching strong, blue, limbs plow easily through the surf.  
The sarong is a mess of lube, semen and sand, he wraps the butt plug into it and carries it. Kurt slips into Logan's shirt and Logan just puts his jeans on. They kiss again, not wanting their tryst to be over, but the light will soon be gone and Logan's stomach is grumbling, ready for dinner.

"So," Alison asks, as they wander back in the short tropical twilight. "Which one?"  
"Both?"  
"Cheating. I think I'd wanna try Logan, at least once, all that meat. Plus he's older than sin, bet he knows a trick or two."  
"Hm," Betsy shakes her head, thinking of that oh so elegant walk down the beach. "Kurt's so pretty though." And imaginative. And considerate. And, well, flexible. But she doesn't say all that, being telepathic has its drawbacks, but also it's... advantages. "And don't forget the tail."  
"Oooh," Ailson sounds impressed. "I'd forgotten the tail. Oho, heads up, incoming."

"... I have to nip home and at least get another sarong. I can't go for dinner in just your shirt!"  
"It's decent. Mostly. Nearly."  
"No, _schatz_ it's not. Hi, Betsy, hi, Alison."  
"Hi there." Alison gives them her dazzling smile as they pass.

Alison and Elizabeth watch appreciatively, the shirt is indeed, barely decent, but they are enjoying the view too much to care. Kurt's hat seems to have lost its purple flowers.  
Just another hot day in Paradise.


	2. Chapter 2 Classical Conditioning

Humming, quietly to himself, he washes the plug carefully, methodically, in warm, soapy water (as per the box instructions), drys it and stores it away. Yes, that hit the spot nicely, small enough to be comfortable, large enough to make sex, with his rather well endowed lover, easier. With a happy grin, he rests his hands in the small of his back and stretches. Mm, yes, that was good. Sticky, sandy but worth it.  
Logan is hard work too. But also worth it. Mostly.  
The argument over getting him in the shower?  
Kurt shakes his head as he starts tidying his rooms.

He'd 'ported them back from the beach to his habitat, covered in salt, sand and, well, semen. And Logan had wanted to go back up to the Luna habitat in that state.  
Unthinkable.  
Kurt knows he considers him to be too fastidious, too clean but... he pauses to pick up the discarded jeans and shirt; he's pretty sure the jeans would stand up on their own. Ew.  
He's glad he insisted, a few weeks back, that Logan keep a few spare clothes here, at least he packed him off back home looking and smelling decent.  
The lovely warm ache when he bends down reminds him again why he's worth it.

His shower is gorgeous, a warm cascade, ringed with flowers, and the odd frog, into a deep pool, all overlooking the bowl of the main group of habitats on Krakoa below. Kurt could sit in the water all day, watching life go by and the changing light. Oh, there's a more standard, utilitarian, bath shaped extrusion too, but he prefers the waterfall and plunge pool, it's so deliciously decadent!

Logan says, gruffly, that he grew up without any of these 'mod cons', doesn't see the need for them. Kurt grew up without any frills either, without any luxury. But his mother would never let him be dirty, so he washed with a bucket of warm (tepid, sometimes cold) water and a flannel. And now, he just loves the sensation of warm water stirring his fur. And expensive shower gel (Betsy and Megan get him Molton Brown, sinfully opulent). And huge, fluffy, towels.

He'd resorted to bribery; enticing Logan into the shower with the promise of a quickie, he'd scrubbed the dried semen and sand off then sank to his knees and given him a blow job. He'd wondered, as he took the thick cock deep in his throat, that he might be conditioning Logan to associate showers with sex? Oh well, what's the worse that could happen?

He'd been expecting a quiet evening, after posting Logan off back to the Summers House and Jean, but his phone chimes, a tweet from Stéphane, she's finishing work in half an hour. _Dinner?_  
He replies immediately. _Of course!_  
She's says she's bringing over leftovers, from the cafeteria where she's a waitress. He wonders whether to open red or white for random, unknown food? He shrugs, it's a warm evening, chilled white, there's some in the 'fridge.

On the way into the Council the next day, Jean catches his arm and kisses his cheek.  
"They're lovely."  
He shrugs, smiles. "He chose them."  
No need to go into exactly _how_ specific the instructions were (yellow gold and emerald, about the size of a grain of rice, about $100).  
"You're a darling."  
She notices the crescent of sliver in his earlobe, it gleams, cool, against the indigo, she raises a eyebrow in query. He's suddenly self conscious, touches it. A slip of silver that's worth a hundredth the price of gold and emeralds, the jeweler probably gave it to Logan, gratis.  
But it was unprompted. Making it priceless.

She squeezes his hand and they go into the chamber together.  
"But what's the secret of getting him so clean? How do you get him in the shower?"  
"Oh, I think I've convinced him that cleanliness is next to godliness..."


End file.
